The Things That We Love
by aMUSEment345
Summary: One shot. Post-ep for 13X06, Lucky Strikes that manages to avoid spoilers for the episode. Reid returns to the BAU to find another friend in distress.


_**Post-ep for 'Lucky Strikes', season 13, that manages to avoid spoilers for the episode**_

* * *

 _ **The Things That We Love**_

"He's dead."

That was all she'd said. And he'd known, the moment he'd heard her say it. Garcia wasn't the only one who had flashed back.

She'd stayed behind for the case, ostensibly to offer support to Garcia, much as she'd done for him, months ago. But that reasoning had only worked for those who hadn't seen the look in her averted gaze, as she'd uttered the words.

"He's dead."

Now, as they returned from the field, her desk was noticeably unoccupied. The others might have assumed she was in Garcia's lair, or even that she'd already left for home. It was, after all, quite late. But Reid felt his gaze drawn up a level, to an office at the end of the hall. It had gone curiously unassigned for years, and he could only wonder if it had been meant to lie in wait for its previous owner, in her time of need. He only knew that he'd been moved to send her there, the last time that need had been so palpably present, as a place where she could confront her demon. Tonight, a dim light shone through the darkened office window now, telling him that she was making use of it again.

Once upon a time, he might have left her to it, not wanting to intrude on whatever process of reflection, or introspection, or rumination, or regurgitation, she might have been undergoing. But that had been a virtual lifetime ago. In the years intervening, they'd been through too much, both together and apart, and there was too much drawing him to be with her. _He'd_ been through too much, himself, not to know the loneliness of self-doubt. And she'd brought him solace, even when he'd not been able to acknowledge it, or even to accept it. It was the least he could do now, to become solace to her.

So he bid good night to the others, and made his way up the stairs, and down the hallway, stopping to knock softly on the door jamb. Only the overhead lighting of the hallway illuminated the room.

"Hey."

She'd taken the seat behind her old desk, as though recreating the scene of that evening a decade ago.

"Hi. You're back." Stating the obvious.

"We just got in. The others have already left. I don't know about Garcia and Morgan, though."

"They're gone. She's okay." Adding a quick, and defensive, "I'm okay."

No attempt at pretense. Just a blatant attempt to dismiss him. It was such clear evidence that she was off her game, so out of character for the glib and savvy liaison she'd been, that he briefly wondered if she'd said it just to show him how _not_ 'okay' she was.

"Sure, I can see that. You always sit in the dark, being 'okay', don't you?" Before she could retort, he went for it. "It's an anniversary for you, too, isn't it?"

For the first time in their exchange, she looked at him. "It was the first time I'd killed someone. And I meant to do it." Almost daring him to correct her. Or maybe pleading with him to do so.

Reid came all the way into the room, taking the seat across from the desk, reminding both of them of the countless times they'd sat together in this room, just like this, years ago.

"I remember that night. I remember everything about it. How we were at Garcia's apartment, and she'd been suspended, and how Hotch told us not to let her into the system, but how he was really telling her to go for it. And I remember how she called up the security camera in the bullpen, and we saw that Baylor had shown up here."

"You saw all of that?" Somehow, in the chaos of the aftermath, she'd never quite heard the details.

He nodded. "And then Garcia called up the other cameras, and we saw you, sitting right here, at this desk, working. And I ….."

Flashing back himself, at the memory of what it had been like to see her there, and to know what they would have to ask her to do. She'd not even been working as a profiler then.

"What?"

"I…. you were the only one he couldn't see. The only one in a position to….take care of him."

She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. "I was the only one in a position to kill him, you mean."

He stared at her. "You had no choice, JJ. He would have killed that IA agent."

"Maybe I could have wounded him. But I took the head shot."

"It's standard procedure, when a life is in danger."

He'd done it himself. But only the once.

She shook her head. "How do you know…..how do _I_ know….that I didn't do it because of what he'd done to Penelope? How do I know I wasn't being vengeful?"

Months ago, he'd asked himself the same question. He'd done what he'd done to protect himself, he'd argued. But how could he be sure that he hadn't actually been avenging the death of his friend?

Into the silence, she spoke again. Softly, her words barely there.

"Sometimes, I'm afraid of what it will do to the boys."

In the darkness, he couldn't quite make out her eyes. Reid pulled his chair closer.

"What do you mean?"

She stared ahead.

"What must it be like, to have a mother who could so easily take the life of another person?"

That brought him all the way out of his seat. Reid moved to the space beside her chair, and crouched next to her.

"I told you, I remember everything about that night. And I remember how it felt to realize that someone I cared about could be in danger. But, mostly, I remember how panicked I was when I realized it would have to be you. And I knew what you would have to do. It wasn't a choice for you, JJ. It's not like you wanted to."

He was close enough to see the pleading in her eyes now. "How do you know that, Spence? _I_ don't even know it."

An old injury caused his knees to demand a change of position. Reid repositioned himself on the floor next to her, leaning back against the empty bookshelf.

"I know it, because I know you. You did what you had to do, and you suffered for it. I know you tried to make light of it, that night, but I could see right through you, because, you know….profiler." Pointing to himself.

He was rewarded with the smile he'd sought, however small.

"It's been ten years, Spence. I've been in plenty of situations since then, pulled my weapon plenty of times. I just….I wasn't expecting this. I wasn't expecting it to hit me so hard. I wasn't expecting it to hit me at all, really. It feels like it came out of nowhere. So I've been sitting here, thinking about why. And the only thing I can come up with, is that he was the first. That, if I hadn't taken that shot…if I hadn't killed him….I wouldn't have become the kind of person who _could_ take another person's life. And my children wouldn't have a mother like that."

"JJ…."

"No, Spence, It's true. I started that day, ten years ago, as one type of person, and I ended it as another."

He was quiet for a long moment, trying to gather his thoughts. There was so much wrong about what she'd said, and he wanted to be sure she would hear him. So he paraphrased _her_ words.

"Just because you were put into an untenable situation, it doesn't mean that you're that kind of person. I'm pretty sure I heard a very wise and beautiful woman tell me that, only a few months ago."

"That was different."

"How?"

 _It was you._ "You were trying to save your own life."

"And _you_ were trying to save the life of that IA agent. It's not different, JJ. I know you were angry about what he'd done to Garcia, just like I was angry that those inmates had killed Luis Delgado. But I didn't intend what happened to them." _Not all of them, anyway._

"It doesn't matter _why_ I did it, Spence. It only matters _that_ I did it. It's just…. I feel like it changed me. Like it hardened me. I didn't even blink that night, did you know that? I just did what I had to do, and went on about my business. I let it define me."

He was quiet for a long moment, before offering a seeming non-sequitur.

"The things that we love tell us what we are."

"What?"

He repeated it. "The things that we love tell us what we are. It's a quote, from Thomas Aquinas. I've been re-reading a lot of my philosophy texts, trying to make sense of what happened to me. Of what I did. Aquinas resonated with me. He said that it's _not_ our actions that define us. It's our intentions that matter. Or, even more accurately put, it's our motivations. The reasons why we act, even if we can't explain the actions themselves. You shot Baylor because he was about to kill someone else. You did it to protect that agent."

"What if I did it because I was angry that he'd shot Penelope?"

He stared her down. "Did you?"

"No! I….. God, I just wish I hadn't."

He extended a hand to invite her to join him on the floor. She accepted, and settled in next to him.

"This is getting to be a habit."

He smiled. "A welcome one, then." He leaned into her, serious again. "What did you mean about the boys?"

JJ dropped her chin against her chest. "I just worry that maybe I've become too hard. That the work that we do makes me into someone who's not good for them. I don't want them to be hard, Spence. They're so sweet, even Henry, who's growing up so fast. I don't want them to become callous. I don't want them to see it in me."

He bent his head until she felt forced to return his gaze. "Can I point out that this hardened, callous, person was sitting up here, alone, in the dark, because she's still upset by something she did…..out of necessity…ten years ago? That doesn't sound like someone who doesn't care. Not to me."

She gave a wry laugh. "That's because you're my best friend. I'm pretty sure it's in the contract."

He smiled in return, even as he corrected her. "No, it's because Aquinas was right. It's the things that we love that tell us what we are. You love Henry, and Michael. You're their mother, you're Will's wife. _That's_ what defines you. Not something you _had_ to do, even though you didn't want to."

She turned her head and smiled at him, reaching for his hand.

"It's the things we love that tell us what we are" echoing his quote. "I'm also your best friend, and you are mine. So, if Aquinas is right, then I'm a tall, skinny genius, with a heart of gold….. and completely untamed hair."

He laughed. "Poor you. I, on the other hand, lucked out. I get to be smart, and blonde, and beautiful, with the biggest blue eyes." _The kind you can swim in._

She smiled in return, leaning forward to look him over.

"Does this mean you're getting better?" He'd been through so much, and she'd been so worried.

He waggled his head in a wide 'maybe'. "It means I know how to take advice, whether it comes from a learned philosopher or my best friend. Or my therapist. You should try it some time."

She chuckled, but then sobered quickly. "Spence, don't you ever wonder what this job does to us?"

"Every day. But every day I also realize that it's a job that _someone_ has to do. As long as there is evil in the world, someone has to fight it. And, as much as I'd like to, sometimes, I can't run away from it, and leave the fight to someone else. I feel like that would be selfish."

She leaned back, and sighed, and he brought her close with an arm around her shoulder.

"I guess that's what I struggle with. I mean, am I being selfish to stay in the fight? Because I feel the same way you do. I want to do my part. But I have the boys. Is it selfish of me to make that kind of choice for them? To have them grow up with a mother who chooses to fight serial killers instead of baking brownies for the school fundraiser?"

He tried to suppress it, but in her position leaning against him, she could feel the shaking of his body.

"Are you laughing?"

"Mph…who, me?"

"Yes, you. What?"

"JJ….if you quit the FBI tomorrow, would you be at home baking brownies? Can you see yourself doing that? Be honest."

She could whip up some of his favorite dishes like magic, but she'd never been a baker, nor a homebody.

She deflated. "No."

"Because that's not who you are. You are a person who loves your family, and your friends. But, maybe even more importantly, you're a person who somehow loves a whole world full of people you've never even met, enough to try to make life better for them. Would you deny Henry and Michael the chance to grow up with that person?"

JJ sat up and turned to look at her best friend.

"No, I wouldn't. You're right. And, you know what? I agree with you….well, with Aquinas. If I've become that person you just described, it's because I love someone else who is exactly like that."

He grinned at her. "How do you think I got this way?"

"Ha." She stood, and offered him a hand up. "Come on, best friend, it's time to take our mutual admiration society home. We've got bad guys to take care of tomorrow."


End file.
